Happy Moonday! The Moonday Experiment Continues...

One of my favorite wise, wild women, JK Lilith Canepa, said 'Let the Wildness begin!' when I told her about my Moonday Experiment.  The idea is to take some time on Mondays to honor the moon on her day by making art, poetry, or dance, and/or to indulge in some wildness, even though its Monday, which the modern world has dubbed manic, busy, full of work, chores, and generally not fun.

I've been thinking all week about wildness.  In the warmer months its easy for me to be wild. I go into nature.  But right now with the winter wind blowing full blast I've been enjoying coming home to my warm apartment, making soup and curling up with a good book.

My wildness is mostly inside of my dream life now.  I've been obsessed with dreams and dreaming for as long as I can remember.  Real healing has come from my dreams.  I also once dreamed up the plot of a novel.  I'm writing it now, so its too soon to know if its actually any good or not, but its definitely true that cultivating my dreams-- actively trying to remember them, writing them down, and then working with the images and ideas that come out of them has been incredibly creatively fruitful for me.

Here's a poem I wrote recently after dreaming about a long ended relationship.  We didn't end it with any sort of closure, and even though I've been in a very happy relationship since then, thoughts of this early train-wreck-complete-with-a-fireworks-car romance have haunted me.  After this dream I woke up with the phrase 'my cup runneth over' in my head.  I felt full of love, gratitude, and forgiveness which lasted all day, and it seems that something has permanently shifted in me, as I feel at peace about that old relationship now.  Sharing this feels scary, which counts as wildness too, I suppose.

Unsent Letter

In the dream I meet you outside of time.

There is no past or future, no open wounds or expectations.

In this place we are not lovers, but Love.

You breathe and I listen to your breath.

The rise and fall of my chest slows your heartbeat.

Our love is the same as ever, light like cotton down,

that abundant and ephemeral.

Our fingers touch and turn to quicksilver,

fleet-footed Hermes broadcasting

reparations to our trapped, troubled hearts

in the cold ragged waking world.

In the comments, I'd be thrilled if you want to share your own poem, links to your poetry, someone else's poetry that you adore, art, photography, links to videos, to stories of wildness, or just answer this question: What makes you feel truly wild?
Happy Moonday! Awoooooooo!